bable they will do so, the matured and once more domesticated mind of such a painter as Mr Allan. P.M. 249 LETTER XLVIII. TO THE SAME. THE largest and most finished picture, which Mr Allan has painted upon any subject not oriental, (or at least not partaking of an oriental character,) is that of the Press-Gang. The second time that I went to his house, he was in the act of superintending the packing up of this fine piece, for being sent into the country;* so that I was lucky in having a view of it at allfor I certainly was not allowed time to contemplate it in so leisurely a manner as I could have wished. It is of about the same dimensions as the Circassian Slaves, and the canvass, as in it, is * The picture belongs to Mr Horrocks of Tillihewan Castle, Dumbartonshire. filled with a very large number of figures; but I am not prepared to say, that I think the same happy effect is produced by this circumstance as in the other. I question, however, whether any scene of actual British Life could have been selected more happily calculated for such a pencil as Mr Allan's. The moment one sees the picture, one cannot help being struck with wonder, that such a subject should have been left so long unhandled; but where, after all, was ever the British artist that could have occupied it in such a manner, as to throw any difficulties in Mr Allan's way, or even to take away the least of the originality, which he has displayed in its management? The canvass represents the house of a fisherman by the sea-side-neat and cleanly, as the houses of respectable fishermen are always found-but more picturesque in its interior than the house of any other poor man can well be, from the mixture of suspended nets and fishingtackle everywhere diversifying the more usual kinds of peasant-plenishing. It is supposed, that the son of the fisherman has just returned from a long voyage in a merchant-ship—his parents are preparing to welcome the wanderer with their fatted calf-and his mistress, having heard the news of his arrival, has hurried, half-clothed as she was, in the eagerness of her unsuspecting love, to be folded in his arms. Scarcely are the first warm, tearful greetings over, ere a caitiff neighbour gives notice to the Press-Gang,-and the picture represents the moment when they have rushed into the house, and pinioned their prey. The agony of the Sailor-Boy is speechless, and he stands with his hand upon his face, as if stunned and insensible to the nature of his misery. His other hand, however, has not quit ted the hand of his sweet-heart, who has swooned away, and is only prevented from lying like a corpse upon the floor, by this his unconscious support. His father looks on in despair; but he has presence of mind enough to know, that resistance would be unavailing. The mother has seized the lieutenant by the hand, and is thrusting upon him all their little household store of guarded guineas, as if she had hoped to purchase her boy's safety by her bribe. In a chair by the fire, meanwhile, which even joy could not have enabled him to leave, the aged and infirm grandfather sits immoveable, and sick at heart-his eyes turned faintly upwards, his feeble hands clasped together, and the big drops coursing each other down the pale and furrowed cheeks of his half-bewildered second childishness. The wife of the old man,-for she, too, is alive to partake in all this wretchedness,-is not so infirm as her partner, but she has moved from her chair only to give aid to him. Dear as are her children to her, her husband is dearer-he is everything to her, and she thinks of nothing but him. She has a cup of water in her hand, of which she beseeches him to drink, and gazes on his emaciated features with an eye, that tells of the still potency of long years of wedded love—a love that has survived all the ardours of youthful blood, and acquired only a holier power from the lapse of all their life of hardships. Perhaps this is the most noble conception in the whole picture-it does not disturb the impression of the parting of the youthful lovers; but reflects back a nobler sanctity upon all their sufferings, by bringing before us a fresh poetic vision of the eternal might of those ties, which that broken-hearted agony is bruising "Ties that around the heart are spun, Even over the groupe of stubborn mariners around the captive boy, the poetical soul of the |